


Homecoming

by SilverRollu



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, But like vaguely described sex, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:53:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRollu/pseuds/SilverRollu
Summary: When Noctis disappeared, he took a lot with him. It may have been different for Gladio, or for Prompto, but for Ignis it was everything.In ten years, he re-learns how tobe.**Chapter 9 to endgame spoilers





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> _she can say, in her voice, in her way, that she love me_   
>  _with her eyes, with her smile, with her belt, with her hands, with her money_   
>  _i am the[thesis of her prayers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydl5zDuvO5w)_

They all take Noctis’ disappearance differently, their grief manifesting in varying ways. With Gladio it’s his anger, a long series of outbursts steadily climbing higher and higher until it crescendos and soon he’s not around at all. With Prompto it’s the dampening of his joking nature, the carefully crafted persona crumbling apart as days pass, and weeks, and months, until even his nervous laughter is a rare occurrence.

With Ignis he feels kin to something broken, because since he could remember his life had been Noctis. Taking care of Noctis, Helping Noctis, Advising Noctis, Protecting Noctis. _Breathing_ for Noctis. Even on his worse days, when he awakens in darkness and takes a moment to process that it is dark and will forever be dark, he wanders back to the last time he’d actually been able to see his Crown Prince.

With Ignis, it’s his numbness.

* * *

 

He only meets Gladio maybe a few times a year. The man makes it a point to stay as active as possible, always on one hunt or another. He’s become quite the duo with Iris, the Amicitias being their own little army in an age where fighting is more natural than breathing. As the months pass the amount of time they spend out on hunts become longer and longer, and if Ignis didn’t know better he’d be worried about them coming back. Somehow he still finds himself worrying.

Prompto, he finds himself in the presence of more often. The man becomes an experienced hunter in his own right, leading supply runs and excavating for parts that Holly or Cindy can use to keep their respective generators running. It’s a hard job that Prompto willingly grows into and Ignis cannot help but feel a certain sense of pride whenever they meet. Often than not Prompto is injured, and though it takes a while for Ignis to relearn the art of dressing and attending to a wound, it is a job he also grows into willingly, because as tough as the blond has grown he is still in need of help.

Ignis knows this, in the way Prompto sags against him when he gives him a once over, checking for bruises or broken bones. Whereas Gladio has Iris, Prompto has no one and Ignis selfishly finds solace in this fact, because he also has no one.

At a point, they both only had Noctis, and Noctis is now gone.

Ignis wraps Prompto’s leg for him, despite the man’s protests that he’ll be okay. He manages a pretty tight hold, and although he cannot see it, Ignis is proud of the job he’s been able to do with the meager supplies they have. When he finishes and Prompto places his leg down, testing the appendage with a solid stomp to the floor, he sighs. Ignis is turned in his direction, tips his head.

“How is it?”

“It’s good. Thanks Iggy.”

“Anytime.”

There’s a silence, but it is not an uncomfortable one. With age the two of them have come to peace with each other’s presence. These days things have been tense, not just for the two of them but for all the refugees alive in this sad excuse for a world, so sometimes being in close proximity to one another is more consoling than any words could be.

Still, the atmosphere begins to feel a little charged and Ignis, preoccupying himself with putting away his medical supplies, ponders the best way to approach it. Prompto speaks first.

“Hey, Ignis…”

“Yes?”

Prompto seems to lose his words after that, making some kind of subtle noise before ultimately becoming silent. Ignis isn’t sure how to follow up on that.

“Are you still hurt? Do you need more assistance?”

Prompto gives a dissenting noise, a little higher than expected. “No, no — Good. All fine, here. You patched me up pretty good.”

“I should hope so,” Ignis says, treading lightly, carefully. “Do let me know if you still need something; you tend to worry me so often, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re hiding some sort of grievous injury.”

“Hey, that was only _one_ time.”

“ _One_ time too many.”

Prompto huffs. “It’s not as though you weren’t doing the same thing.”

Hunting is a shared responsibility among the surviving members of the world’s population. There is a job for everyone regardless, but hunting is so vastly important — for food, for medical supplies, for weapons. The list grows as the years go on— that everyone who _can_ , does. Ignis is no exception. Relearning to fight had been a tricky inner battle, but one that the man had won, and one that he will forever take pride in because it meant he’d been able to _overcome_. Overcome his weakness, his fear of uselessness.

In a way, Noctis had become an ideal, a means _and_ an end. But these last few years, losing him and relearning how to _live_ has afforded him a new ideal. So he hunts. He’s the only blind hunter Dave has ever seen, but he’s the _best_ damn blind hunter Dave has ever seen and will _ever_ see.

However, despite how important hunting is to Ignis, Prompto hadn’t been particularly excited about it in the beginning. Ignis has realized that it’s not something to be offended over, but rather to be flattered by; Prompto accepted it, after all, after the initial argument, and that argument had only happened because of his concern. Made Ignis wonder if perhaps he wasn’t the only one with the tendency to worry.

“Regardless of the injuries I may sustain, I do make an effort not to _hide_ them.” And, as Ignis has discovered, without being able to _see_ his own injuries it’s become mighty difficult to hide them from prying eyes. Which, in the end, is probably better for his overall health. Others helping others became imperative in this new world of theirs, and that involved _accepting_ that help when it was offered. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, Prompto.” His voice becomes softer towards the end, and he hopes that he gets the feeling across. Even if he’s not entirely sure of what the feeling _is._

There’s another pause where Prompto doesn’t respond. In the silence of the room — Ignis’, a small little apartment crammed into a small corner of Lestallum — Ignis can hear their breaths. Prompto takes in a long breath. He doesn’t exhale. There’s a beat, then, “Thanks, Ignis. Truly.”

Ignis nods, offering what he hopes is a calming smile. Suddenly, he wonders if Prompto is smiling back.

On a later night, when the darkness seeps deeply into his bones and he finds the thought of getting up nothing more than a useless endeavor, he wanders back to the last time he’d been able to see Prompto’s smile.

* * *

 

Five years have gone by, and somehow it still manages to surprise Ignis. The transition of his care from _Noctis_ to _Prompto_ isn’t a smooth transition, but it is one that happened so easily that the man finds himself surprised that it has not happened sooner. That worrying over and taking care of Prompto hadn’t been a part of him before, but he supposes that _before_ he had a pretty one track mind. Also probably why it was an _easy_ transition but not a _smooth_ one, because while caring for Prompto becomes as easy as _being_ , for the longest time there had been a deep part of Ignis that felt something was terribly wrong.

Prompto is not Noctis, but for the longest time Ignis _needed_ a Noctis. Someone to fret over, worry and worry until he’d nearly plucked out all of his hairs and downed more Ebony than is clearly recommended. This man doesn’t do that — not as much, anyway, as he still clearly excels in the art of inducing that familiar hair-picking, nail-biting anxiety — because he grows into someone that Ignis doesn’t want to stand over, or behind, but someone he wants to stand next to. Or lean onto, as it were some days.

It takes him five years to realize, and yet somehow it still comes as a surprise when Prompto kisses him. Spontaneously, right after Ignis has worked his way around a nasty gash that the Prompto received after finding a particularly nasty daemon on what was to be a routine supply run. Prompto makes a noise like he’s dying, right as Ignis is tying off the bandages, and when he straightens his posture there are hands on his shoulders and Prompto is suddenly much closer than Ignis had anticipated.

Prompto runs his thumb over his bottom lip, slowly and carefully like he’s asking a question. Like he’s giving Ignis a moment to run should he feel inclined. But he doesn’t and so Prompto moves in, closer, and their lips connecting feels like the unraveling of a riddle. Like he’s been relieved of an emotion so heavy, so consuming that without it he’s near weightless. It makes him feel guilty, but that passes in a second and then he feels.

Complete.

* * *

 

On the occasion Ignis would give Prompto a compliment, back during his Crownsguard training or _before_ , whenever they’d tackled a difficult hunt or succeeded in a task demanding a gunman’s expertise, the man would blush. It’s quite the heavy thing, red blotches all along his skin, from the freckles on his cheeks to the tips of his ears, bits of his neck. If Ignis had any regret these days about the lost of his sight it’d be that he could no longer witness it. Could no longer see the reactions he could have on his partner, the ones that he knew Prompto still had even if he denied it.

Because he can _feel_ it, these days.

He pulls Prompto in for a kiss, strokes his cheek when they separate. Unfortunately, time isn’t a luxury these days. Things move quickly, and they move constantly. But it has been weeks upon months, and neither of them are dead or injured (much) so in this moment they’d be as slow as they possibly could.

Under hand Prompto’s skin feels especially warm, heated in the spots where it stretches as the man is undoubtedly smiling. Prompto laughs, all deep in his throat, and it’s the most beautiful thing Ignis has heard in a long time. Right here, right now, with Prompto’s breath against his cheek, smelling like musk and gunpowder and wood; it feels like coming home.

“I love you,” Ignis says and Prompto warms even more, and Ignis feels that tug in his chest that he rarely feels anymore these days, those times where he wishes desperately that he could _see—_

“Same here,” Prompto responds, pushing his face forward into Ignis’ shoulder, inhaling deeply. “So much. I love you _so much_ Ignis, I—”

There’s a shift and they both groan; it feels good, _so_ good but they’re not desperate, not yet. The feel of Prompto’s weight over him, the pull of his fingers tugging at his hips is enough for him now. It seems like forever since Ignis has had touch that wasn’t the grip of his daggers or the claws of a daemon. Prompto is almost _unbearably_ soft, even though he’s grown into a man that’s all tough, silent strength. He presses buttons Ignis didn’t know he had, pushes and nudges and kisses until they’re both close to falling apart.

Ignis has grown accustomed to the darkness at this point, so it feels less like fumbling when he scrambles to find purchase, to hold onto Prompto’s body in any way that he can. It feels more like mapping; he’s memorizing every bump, every muscle, every scar. Every shake and quiver that goes through the man when he comes, lips open and breath hot on Ignis’ throat. Even the scratches and callouses on Prompto’s fingers when he strokes him to completion.

He thinks that, even with the rest of their lives to spend together, he’ll still have more to commit to memory. Miles and miles more, if Prompto would have him.

* * *

 

Just as with his disappearance the first time, the three of them take Noctis’ death in varying ways. Though as a whole, it is a much more subdued reaction. Leaning against the destroyed remains of the Citadel, gasping and nursing quite a few new injuries from the battle, it quickly becomes apparent just _when_ the deed has been completed. Ignis lifts his head up, pointed vaguely in the direction he feels it coming from. He feels it against his eye at first, and then as if beckoning it the light washes over his face and fills him with a warmth he hasn’t felt in a decade.

His breath leaves him in a rush and, to either side of him, he hears his companions do much of the same.

There are no words from any of them at first. Ignis hears Gladio first, his footsteps stopping heavily next to him before a large hand drops itself on his shoulder. On his other side he feels Prompto press against him, heavy — and Ignis has a thought in the back of his mind that later he should tend to Prompto’s injuries first—  but it’s comforting nonetheless.

They stand like that for who knows how long, before Ignis clears his throat, suddenly dry and cracked and broken from _everything_ they’ve dealt with that night and he says “How does it look?”

Gladio makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle but is too somber to truly be, and Prompto.

Prompto’s smile comes out in his voice when he says. “It’s beautiful.”

And though Ignis feels like he’s moments away from collapsing under the pressure of his grief and loss, he finds it in him to smile too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> that song linked above is just the thing that inspired the piece. not that it's particularly reminiscent of what this fic was actually ABOUT but the chorus definitely inspired the entire thing. also it's just a damn good song
> 
> i'm at tumblr @ leonmckennedy if you wanted to see me ramble about useless shit and fanfic b4 i post it here


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